


The Goddess and the Glass Eye

by cirque



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Gen, IN SPACE!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirque/pseuds/cirque
Summary: You could never get an audience with a God when you wanted one. Sure, they were busy, and there were official channels for that sort of thing, but the fact remained that nine times out of ten they refused you. Some said it was arrogance, some said it was a symptom of a rotting society, there was even a case to be made for social anxiety - either way, the Gods had never been so unreachable.
Relationships: (Minor) God/Their Favored Human
Comments: 9
Kudos: 11
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Goddess and the Glass Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).



> With many thanks to my betas roguefaerie and Texasdreamer01 o/

You could never get an audience with a God when you wanted one. Sure, they were busy, but there were official channels for that sort of thing, and the fact remained that nine times out of ten they refused you. Some said it was arrogance, some said it was a symptom of a rotting society, there was even a case to be made for social anxiety - either way, the Gods had never been so unreachable.

Chances were better with a minor God; the Goddess of Good Hair was particularly welcoming to her keratinous subjects. They were altogether more approachable, more down to Earth - emotionally and physically, owing to their residences on the planet’s surface. The bigger Gods lived on high in the heavens, a world apart from their people, but the little Gods, the everyday mercies, slummed it with the ordinary folk.

Rena had never, _truly_ , expected to be granted an audience. She hadn’t planned for that eventuality. She had wanted, sure, else she wouldn’t have applied, but when she submitted the form to the Deity Desk, she had never in a million years expected anything other than a questionably-polite rejection.

The letter was waiting for her after her shift. She was knee deep in oil and grease, her overalls speckled with the day’s work. She had been working on a particularly run-down ship, and her mind was still half lost in the pitch of it after she had replaced its accelerator. As far as Reba was concerned, there was no better feeling. Until she saw the letter.

“This came for you,” said her uncle, as he handed it over. It was a slim brown envelope, the kind that was always sent via the Deity Desk. The government had their own particular style, and it was easily recognisable. Reba thought at first that it was a tax letter, or jury duty, or something, and she almost decided to leave it until after her dinner. Almost.

She ripped it open with her blunt nails. The letterhead was cursive and luxurious, the paper a decent, heavy GSM. It felt weighty in her hands. She scanned the top few lines, half-expecting to read something terrible, when her eyes stuck on the sender’s address: _Her Magnificence Liora,_ _Office of Lost Things, Deity Desk, Minster Square, New London._

“Ohmygod,” Reba rasped. Her uncle looked up.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Reba tried to steady her breathing, but it was rapidly becoming impossible. “They’ll see me! Remember I applied to meet with the Goddess of Lost Things? Well, look, she’s agreed to see me!” She flapped her hands, the letter slicing through the air. She bounced up and down on the spot enough times for her uncle to frown at her excitement. He always was a grump.

“Reckon she can help you find our glass eye?”

“That’s what I contacted them for.” Reba stopped her fidgeting - she had almost gone several hours without thinking about the glass eye. “I doubt I’ll actually get to meet with the Goddess herself, but an audience with her office is better than nothing.”

“Well, good,” was all her uncle had to say on the matter, and he nodded his head and returned to his baking, stretching out the dough slowly enough for it to look like a kind of worship. Reba smiled; her uncle made the best cookies.

Cookies and an audience with a minor God - it was almost a dream come true, were it not for the matter of the missing glass eye. 

It had been gifted to Reba’s grandmother Eliza by the Princess of Tam, or so the story went. The Princess had been riding side-saddle through an abandoned quarry when she had fallen and broken her ankle. Eliza saw her distress beacon and came to her aid. In return, the Princess gave her one of Tam’s most precious exports: a crystal ball capable of seeing great distances, assuming the person on the other end had a glass eye of their own. Eliza had kept it in her sock drawer for most of her life, but during her grandmother’s exodus from Earth the small glass ball had gotten lost in the travelling. 

It had been missing for thirty years now, somewhere on the planet - and Reba knew, if she could just find it, fate would smile on her family again. Family legend went that some distant relative had a glass eye of their own, still living on old Earth. If Reba could find the missing one, there was a good chance she could talk to her long-lost family member. 

That night, Reba stretched out in her bunk, her stomach pleasantly full of chorizo pasta and the fresh warm cookies. Outside her little porthole window were the well-lit streets of New London, and the lampposts beyond, and the people going to and fro about their business, even in the dead of night. It was never quiet, not in London. 

As she lay there, staring at the holographic play of the lights on her window, she heard a spaceship take off, its _woosh_ picking up at a frightening pace. Reba listened to the hum of its engine as it soared above her - she was only eight miles from the aeroport. She wondered if it was a ship she had worked on that day, if it was one of the dozens that she was tasked with servicing, or if it was some fantastical privately owned get-up. She imagined sleek lines and carbon fibre, sparkling engines, a white pristine interior. 

When she slept, she dreamt of the solidity of tempered glass.

* * *

Reba got the morning off work. She still had to go in in the afternoon, and put in the hours she had missed. She’d be working overtime that day, and she thanked her lucky stars her supervisor had been understanding. Truthfully, Reba went a little overboard explaining to him the story of the glass eye with fervent gestures, until he had eventually given her permission to take off. “ _Four hours_ ,” he’d rolled his eyes at her exuberance. 

She wasn’t sure how long an audience with a God typically took. She hoped it wasn’t an all-day-job as she combed her hair flat and fixed the aventurine buttons on her best jacket. It was clean and pressed, not a grease mark in sight. She arrived early, ten minutes before nine am, and walked through the security scanners with her head held high, taking in all that was before her. 

The lobby was nothing short of beautiful. It was white marble floors and gold furnishings, _real_ gold, not the fake kind she saw every day on the streets of London. At the far end of the hall were a pair of double doors, beyond which Reba could see a curving staircase, with more gold on the handrail. There was a large marble desk at one end, behind which sat a disgruntled looking employee, who was regarding her with an air of distaste. Reba smiled anyway.

“Hello,” she said upon her approach to the desk, “I’m here to see -”

“Yes yes. You’re here to see Liora. Her Magnificence is the only deity here.”

“Oh, all right.” Reba’s smile slid off her face. She felt stupid. She smoothed down her hair, as though that would help. “Do I just wait to be called in?”

“Yes, take a seat.” The employee gestured to a row of armchairs against the far wall. Reba sank into the plush cushions, her face red with embarrassment. She wasn’t sure where to look, and focused on her feet, her scuffed old boots, dull against the well-polished floor. 

The nerves started kicking in. She had never so much as laid eye on a God before, even a minor God; she had no idea what it entailed. What did a God even look like? Did they look like anything at all, or were they invisible or unknowable or what? She began to regret coming. It was silly really, to request an audience with an entire deity over what was essentially a pretty piece of rock, no matter how many cool tricks it could perform.

“Reba McCloud?” The employee said before too long. “Her Magnificence will see you now, proceed to the stairs.”

Reba jumped to her feet. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what to do, what to say…? I mean, should I make eye contact? I’ve never met a God before.” She hoped her voice didn’t sound too desperate. “I don’t know what to do.”

The employee rolled her eyes, as though she heard this sort of thing often, which Reba supposed she did. “Try not to think about it too much,” she said at length. “It’s not that complicated. Stay clear, stay calm, stay polite. Remember Her Magnificence doesn’t _need_ to grant you an audience, she’s doing this out of the goodness of her heart. Be grateful, above all else. State your intention and let her lead the conversation. And, for god’s sake, don’t touch her. You wouldn’t believe how many people we have to scrape up off the floor because they forget that one simple rule.”

Reba paled. She hadn’t thought too much about it, but now it seemed an overwhelming thing. She was beginning to regret turning up. She stood up and let her heavy feet carry her towards the staircase. She grasped the handrail with all her strength, her knuckles going white. She felt distant, dizzy, discombobulated; it was as if it was all happening to someone else, and Reba was just looking down. She stomped up the stairs before she caught herself, and forced her feet to be quiet.

Before long she arrived at another door, and it _dinged_ open at her presence. She walked through into the small antechamber beyond. It was dimly lit, and Reba was surprised to see that there were flickering candles rather than an electric fixture. The room was long and rectangular - beyond a second door stood the Goddess, Reba knew.

She threw back her shoulders and tried to be brave. She was so close, it wouldn’t do to chicken out now. She grasped the handle and pulled.

The Goddess, Liora, _Her Magnificence,_ was everywhere. Her atmosphere permeated the whole hall. It was a cold room and Reba shivered, her hair standing on end. There, at the far end of the hall, on a throne of a thousand trinkets, sat the Goddess, resplendent in her glory, her legs crossed and her face expectant. In her lap was a notebook and, absurdly, a chewed pen which she tapped against her knees.

“Hello.” said the Goddess, in what Reba was surprised to hear was a normal voice. She was tall, _big_ , but noticeably human. Her skin was amber and her hair golden; she wore a prim navy blue business suit and high heels. She looked _divine._

“Erm - hello.” Reba tried not to sound terrified, but she suspected she was losing that battle.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not -” but then Reba realised perhaps she should not lie to a deity she wanted to supplicate. “Okay, I’m a little afraid. I’ve never met a God before.”

The Goddess smiled, pleased. “That’s charming. I hope I don’t disappoint.”

“Oh! You could - _never_ \- not disappoint, I mean…” She was rambling again. “Your majesty -”

“The correct form of address is ‘magnificence’,” the Goddess corrected kindly, “but I’m pleased to hear you think of me as queenly.”

Reba stopped talking, her mouth working silently. Not five minutes into her audience, and she had already made a fool of herself.

“Relax,” said the Goddess. “I’m _joking._ ” She smiled, and it was such a lovely smile. It lit up her whole face, literally - it seemed as though there was fire beneath her delicate skin. Reba could not help but stare. The Goddess tapped the pen against the paper. “Shall we get down to business? I assume you’ve come here today with a request, so let’s hear it.”

“Pardon me Your Magnificence, but can I ask a question first? Why did you agree to see me?”

The Goddess smiled again, as though she had expected this. “Ah. Could it not be that I just wanted a visitor?”

Reba blanched. She ought to have known not to pry in a Goddess’s business, and she cursed herself. “Of course, I’m sorry -”

“The truth is, I’m a little bored of late. There isn’t much in the way of traffic in my office, and it’s starting to grate on me. When you live forever, the days tend to blur together, and the monotony is kind of pissing me off. So I’ve resolved to see more mortals, answer requests, help find things, that sort of thing. It’s literally my job.” As she spoke, she waved the ruined pen through the air.

“In that case, I’m honoured that you chose me.”

“That’s pleasant to hear. Now, go on, tell me your request.”

Reba drew in a deep breath; she would need it. “Well - the thing is - there’s a trinket, a glass ball, given to my grandmother by this princess, a long time ago. My grandma lost it when she tried to flee earth - you know, the exodus of thirty-thirty? My grandma left in the ships, but she left the glass eye behind - we don’t know what happened to it.” She was rambling. She wasn’t being polite at all. Reba grimaced. “It’s a magic crystal ball, it can see great distances. It’s always been something of a legend in my family, and we’d like to find it. If - er - if that would be possible? Ideally. Please?” She mouthed ‘please’ again for good measure.

The Goddess beamed down at her. Reba would almost say she looked _fond._ Her eyes were like the sunset, alive and inviting, a soft kind of gold. She was damn beautiful. Reba swallowed, carefully.

“It’s important to my family,” she said. “It’s part of our history, and we miss it. I would greatly appreciate any help.”

The Goddess sat up straight, business-like. “Of course. I’ll find it for you. It would be my genuine pleasure.”

“That - that’s brilliant. Thank you!”

“Of course, there is the small matter of payment.”

“Pay - what?”

“ _Payment_. Trade. Give and take. The usual.”

Reba felt her cheeks grow hot. How had she possibly expected Her Magnificence to give something freely? Reba shook her head to clear her thoughts. “What would you ask of me?”

The Goddess looked delighted with this. “Oh? Anything I like?”

“Within reason,” Reba said, before she could stop herself. “I mean… Your Magnificence.” 

“ _Relax_ ,” the Goddess said again. “I’m teasing you.” Her gold eyes were dancing. “As for the payment - I have an idea. How about: you come back here, once a week or so, and sit and talk with me? Just talk. Just sit and chat. I’d like to learn more about my subjects, about London, about Old Earth. I’d like to be more _connected._ Do that, and I’ll find whatever you want.”

Reba considered. It wouldn’t be a _huge_ trial, to spend more time in the presence of one so lovely. She could manage, she thought fondly. She might even enjoy it. 

Reb nodded, her mind made up. “Deal.” Then she thought: was there a protocol to follow when agreeing to a God’s suggestion? “I mean, er, I agree to your bargain.”

“That’ll do.” The Goddess wrote something in her notebook for several long moments. Reba could see her handwriting was cursive and large. She made an art of it, her hand floating over the paper with utmost grace. When she was done, she looked expectantly at Reba, her face breaking into a fantastic smile. “Now - the matter of your lost trinket.” She reached into the pocket of her blazer and withdrew a handful of glass, in a perfect spherical shape. She held it out to Reba. “Be careful not to touch me, I’m sure they warned you.”

Reba thought of the receptionist’s warning about scraping people off the floor. She felt sick at the thought. She carefully stretched out her hand and took hold of the glass ball where the Goddess had left her space. It was heavy, shiny, sending out little sprinkles of spectrum rainbows as it caught the candlelight. It felt good in her palm. “Thank you,” she said, a little breathy.

“You are most welcome.”

* * *

Her uncle was waiting, his hand outstretched. Reba dropped it into his palm. It was the size of a good apple, the colour of clear ice. He smiled to touch it.

“This is amazing, I can’t believe it, after all these years.” Reba’s grandmother had left Earth forty years ago; the glass eye had been lost on the empty planet for all that time, gathering dust, only to be summoned by the Goddess. _The beautiful Goddess,_ Reba’s mind supplied.

“I know,” she said, to dispel the thoughts. “All this time, and she found it just like _that_ ,” she snapped her fingers loudly.

Her uncle passed the glass eye from hand to hand before giving it back to Reba. She would have to come up with somewhere to keep it. It had to be safe; it was too important to lose again.

“Do you know how to work it?” she asked her uncle.

He frowned; evidently not. “I don’t know - my mother never left instructions. Only the story, and that wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the details. I think maybe you shake it?” He did just that. Nothing happened.

“Oh. Well. Try again.” 

He shook it again, and again nothing happened.

Reba shrugged. “Never mind. We’ll keep trying. Maybe I could ask the Goddess to contact the people of Tam for me? They must know how to work it, it’s their tech after all. I’ll bring it up in one of our meetings.”

“But she’s only the Goddess of Lost Trinkets?”

“Well maybe one of her friends can help? It can’t hurt to ask.”

“You’re right.” Her uncle reached towards her and covered the glass eye with a handkerchief. “While we’re not sure how it works, it’s best to keep it covered. Just in case.”

Reba went to sleep that night with the glass eye under her pillow, a physical lump beneath her ear. She couldn’t say whether she imagined it, but she swore it hummed.

* * *

Her next meeting with the Goddess came around quickly. Sixth-day was her day off work. She waited at reception again and came forth when she was called, moving through the antechamber familiarly, keen to lay eyes on her patron again. The Goddess was as beautiful as before, as refreshing on the eyes. She smiled to see Reba, a full-bodied smile, all white teeth and blood-red lips, and Reba buzzed inside.

“You came,” said the Goddess in her harmonious voice. It was like a thousand finches, hundreds upon hundreds of Seventh-day bells.

“Of course,” said Reba, shocked. “I said I would.”

“So you did.”

They passed the time amicably. Reba came to notice that there were no windows in the meeting room, no way to tell that it was high noon outside, the New Sun beating down upon the green fields of Upsilon 2, and the grey towers of New London. She cocked her head towards her Goddess.

“Why are there no windows?” she asked.

The Goddess considered, chewing on her lips. It was a bad habit, Reba knew, but she couldn’t take her eyes off it all the same. “I don’t know,” her Goddess said at length. “I didn’t design this room. It was built wholesale. I suppose the other Gods and Goddesses don’t want to see outside; they don’t care what their subjects get up to. Do you think I should have a window?”

“Even just a little one,” Reba encouraged her. “It would make such a difference. Surely it can’t hurt to feel the sun on your face?”

“Surely not,” the Goddess breathed. Her voice was quiet, small and understated. She seemed sad somehow, and Reba was unhappy at her reaction.

“It’s not too late to put in a window…” she suggested.

The Goddess raised her chin. She had a pretty face, delicate features, well proportioned and sweet. Reba wondered if there were other words to describe one of the Divine; ‘pretty’ seemed too plain a word.

“I suppose…” the Goddess said. “I suppose I could always… visit my people?”

Reba gasped. “Like in person?” She wasn’t sure what she thought of this. Deities didn’t walk among the regular folk, not even the Minor Gods.

“Like in person,” the Goddess confirmed. She seemed set; there was something about the glimmer in her eyes that told Reba she was a hundred percent certain. “Will you walk with me?”

Reba was shocked. “I mean - if you want me to - I’d be _honoured._ ”

“‘Honoured’?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“‘Honoured’. I like that.” The Goddess smiled. “Shall we go then?”

The Goddess stood up and stepped down from the raised dais that her throne was on. With each step she took towards Reba she seemed to grow smaller, shrink inwards, until she was finally standing directly before Reba, the size and shape of a normal human woman. She beamed. “That’s just one of many tricks.” She wore a simple dress, long and flowing, and gold sandals. Reba almost took her arm, before she remembered. 

They walked down the spiral staircase together, the Goddess going first. Reba found she liked watching her walk; there was something grand about it, like a procession, like she was on the way to some fantastical ball. It felt like a true event. Gliding through the silent lobby, they passed the stuffy receptionist, and moved through the revolving door and onto the sunbeat street beyond. It was early afternoon. People would be coming from lunch. No one spared them a second glance; had no idea of her majesty. She walked among her subjects with a cool ease, her eyes scanning the crowd, searching for a seed of recognition.

“They don’t know me!” she whispered, agast.

Reba wanted to take her arm _again._ “Of course they don’t. They’ve never seen you before.” Her skin was no longer flushed and golden; to all the world she looked like a regular mortal. Her eyes still glinted with an inhumane glint, the only giveaway of her divine heritage. Her dress parted just so as she walked, like it was fate.

The sun on Upsilon 2 was closer than that of the sun on Old Earth; it thrummed down on them without mercy, sending little beads of perspiration gathering at their temples and the tops of their lips. Reba was surprised to see the Goddess suffered with the heat like the rest of them. She fanned at her face, exerted. She was a long way from her air-conditioned chamber.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Reba asked.

“No, no, it’s alright.” She looked heartbroken, as if such a trivial thing could happen to one so celestial. “I just thought… they’d recognise me, at the very least.”

“They know your name, just not your face. If you told them who you are -”

“No, that must never happen. _Never._ ” She shuddered vehemently. 

“Okay,” Reba assured her, “it won’t.” 

She wondered what was so special about that, what deserved so much care. To her, it seemed as if only good things could come from the Gods and Goddesses being more in touch with their subjects, but then Reba was only human. The Deities lived thousand-year lives, a small infinity spread among the stars. They were endless and beautiful, and only physical beings as long as they were needed, as long as their names were invoked in ceremonies. 

“ _Liora,_ ” said Reba breathily. “You must know - you are so worshipped, so _loved._ ” She had never used the Goddess’s name before; it seemed sacrilege somehow, as though she had broken some long-serving taboo. The name felt warm in her mouth. It melted into the beating of the sun, high in the blue sky.

“You truly think so?” The Goddess turned, looking nervous. Her eyes were almost teary.

Reba had never known a Deity to be so… naive? No, that was wrong - _uncertain_ , perhaps, or unconfident. But then, she was only a small God, less removed from humans than her Major counterparts. Reba had not had enough dealings with the Divine to know for sure - but then, who among the humans had? “I know.”

* * *

Their third meeting - their fourth, their fifth, their sixth - proceeded in much the same way, until Reba came to realise that she enjoyed the Goddess’ company. More than that, she sought it out. She thought of Liora throughout her week, would plan what to say to her on their meeting days. Each morning she carefully planned her outfit and brushed her hair just so, with the kind of detail that an areoport mechanic never usually managed. She stole her breath before she stepped into the room, and committed their meeting to sacred memory. There was something special in it, something that she could not name.

Her uncle had figured out the glass eye. It turned out to be solar powered. Reba left it out in the midday light, and it charged itself up. That night it glimmered and, to their surprise, showed another figure. A woman within the glassy sphere, who seemed as shocked as they were, her mouth hanging open with it.

“Hello?” she said. Her voice seemed to come from afar, like there was several leagues between them. It sounded tinny in the confines of their house.

“Hello!” Reba called. “Hello, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” said the woman. “Who is this?” She seemed surprised to be communicating with them, and Reba suspected that her relatives had not told her the particulars of the glass eye, as Reba’s grandmother had neglected to tell her.

“My name is Reba,” she said, “who’s this?”

“Emmeline. Reba, how are you contacting me?”

“This glass eye was given to me by my grandmother.”

“My grandmother gave me mine, too.”

“Was your grandmother Eliza?”

“Yes,” Emmeline said. “Yes, she was. One and the same?”

“It would seem that way.” To think, Emmeline was her long-lost cousin, out on Old Earth, still living in the long-forgotten Milky Way. Forty years of separation stretched between them; forty years of history.

They chatted with Emmeline well into the night. Life continued on Old Earth, much as it had for the millenia before they left. Life was tough, but humans endured, as they always had. They lived day-to-day in an unforgiving landscape. Their hardships were many, but they still remembered those of their ancestors who had been lucky enough to leave on the generational ships forty years ago. Emmeline still thought of grandma Eliza and her descendents; she wished Reba and her uncle well.

“And you,” swore Reba, her voice barely a whisper beneath the rumble of a departing ship in the lower atmosphere.

* * *

“Did you know?” said Reba, one hot day, “my grandmother had two glass eyes? The other belongs to a cousin of mine, Emmeline, back on Earth?” 

It must have been their eighth or ninth time meeting; they were familiar with each other by then. They had settled into an intimacy, the lull of the tides, continuous.

The Goddess gasped slightly, a sharp intake of breath. “You mean to say… you have _direct_ communication with Old Earth?”

“Yes,” said Reba simply. The room was sweltering, the candles still going even in the thirty-five degree heat. They flickered, little halos of radiation sweltering off of them, evaporating into the room. Reba peeled off her outer layer; it had not been so hot out on the street. She let the jacket fall to the ground and it gathered about her feet.

“What is it like?” her Goddess whispered, half-awe, half-guilt.

“It seems like a ruin, from what I’ve seen.” Reba said. Truth be told, the thought of Old Earth made her sad. “Everything has burned down. There’s very little left of a society. It seems our people left at the right time.” She thought, not for the first time, of her grandmother, terrified and pregnant, fleeing the planet the second she got the chance, not looking back.

“Yes, perhaps. None of my kin stayed with them - do you think it was a sin to leave them alone?”

Reba considered. “I think your people get to define what ‘sin’ means; you’re Gods after all. If you don’t deem it a sin, then it wasn’t. Surely?” She wanted to believe, still, that the Gods were all-knowing, even if her recent companionship with Liora was teaching her differently. She wanted to be comfortable in the knowledge that they knew what was best, that they would guide the future. 

“But is it right that we get to define that?”

Liora had a habit of asking questions that Reba had no way of answering; Reba wondered if that was perhaps _why_ the Goddess asked them. 

“You’re divine,” said Reba, and she meant it, in every permutation of the word.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Liora sounded distant, sounded unconvinced. “I think we’ll end today here.”

“Your Magnificence- I didn’t mean to upset you-”

“You didn’t,” said Liora, her voice hollow. “You’re right. Who else but us gets to define sins? You didn’t upset me; never think that.”

Reba frowned. She understood that her Goddess was so starved of devotion that she tried to grasp it with both hands, wherever she could get it - she _understood,_ better than her Goddess knew. That was what their little meetings were about after all, their sacrosanct back-and-forth, their careful repertoire - it was for Liora, all of it, to show her what she meant - to her people, to Reba, to the whole damn world. What else could it be for?

“You’re divine,” Reba echoed, and put her whole body into it.

* * *

Emmeline was a fixture in their household from then on. They spoke regularly, of all types of things, family and birthdays and loves and hates, life on Earth and life on Upsilon 2 both. Emmeline lived in a settlement called Lowestoft, by the beach. She carried her glass eye around outside, showing Reba and her uncle. Lowestoft was burnt-out and smoky, and the sea was wild and dark, the pier bearing the remains of an attempt to build a wind farm. Emmeline lived with twenty other people in what had once been a ship moored at the harbour - they lived a meagre existence, with little food and rare luxuries. Reba showed her around New London with more than a little guilt - from its green fields to its sleek inner city towers, its public parks and solar panels, the contrast was stark.

“It’s beautiful,” came Emmeline’s breathy voice from the tinny glass eye. “Show me the sky again.” Reba tilted the sphere towards the blue, blue sky. As she did, a canver-bird swooned on by, arcing up between two glistening clouds, its red tail catching the light. “I can’t believe how clear everything is.” As they were talking, a spaceship took off from the aeroport, and Emmeline gasped in awe at the sound of its engines. “Do you really build them?”

“I fix them up. Mostly I just clean off all the individual parts. You wouldn’t believe how many people neglect to clean them, and only come to us when they have a problem.” Reba glanced around at Gillespie park. People were starting to stare, their picnics going unfinished as they lay back on the grass on the hottest day of the year. Reba wore shorts and a thin top but still she was bright red with the heat. She would burn for sure. The grass tickled at her sandaled feet as she walked around, showing Emmeline everything she could, keeping up a running commentary.

“It’s so different,” Emmeline said, as Reba walked them closer to the aeroport. “I can’t get over how _alive_ the whole place is!”

It saddened Reba to look at old Earth, at what was left behind.

* * *

It was easy then, for her to resolve to ask for help, anywhere she could get it. She started with Liora, who raised her thin eyebrows when she brought it up.

“You want to return to Earth?”

Reba was lounging against the foot of Liora’s throne, her back pressed against the gathered trinkets, careful not to touch Liora herself. There was something prodding in her back. The Goddess’s bare legs were inches from her; Reba could count the minuscule imperfections in her skin, the pimples on her angular knees. “Not me personally. But I think it would be wonderful if we could send a ship. They have nothing there, they’re truly cut off. I feel so awful for them.”

“That’s what makes you such a wonderful human,” Liora said, sounding proud and awed at once. “You have such a big heart.” Reba looked up and they smiled at each other. “I’ll bring it up at our next meeting, how does that sound?”

“That sounds fantastic. When’s the next meeting?”

“Next Eighth-day.”

That was two days away. Reba leaned back against the throne. She listened to the Goddess fidgeting with her pen, clicking it on and off, on and off. Normally such things would annoy her, but she found it a dream to listen to the Goddess just being so _human._ She sighed, long and slow, and reached out her hand to touch Reba on her shoulder, careful to avoid skin-on-skin contact. Her touch was warm, so very warm, and heavy. It was a comfort, and a torture.

“Will I really need to be scraped off the floor if we touch?”

“Yes,” said Liora. “It won’t be pretty. It’d be over in a second for you, though.”

“Oh. That’s comforting.” She wondered: would it be worth it? “Has it ever happened before?” 

“Not for quite some time. I don’t make a habit of touching humans, for that very reason.” She certainly seemed to be making a habit of touching Reba though; she kept brushing her hands across the back of Reba’s neck, where her skin was hidden by the upturned collar of her shirt. Reba smiled inside, to think of that.

“I wish we could touch,” she said, dreamily. She rather thought it would be transcendental. Heavenly. _Divine,_ in every iteration of the word.

“Me too,” and the Goddess sounded so very sad.

* * *

The Gods had agreed to send a ship to Earth. Just the one, equipped with a warp drive, but one would be enough. Several Gods would travel with them - Menkar the God of Tessellation, and Erinu the sunset and sunrise Goddess, to bring their light to the humans left behind on the planet. They needed a holy presence; they needed good luck and, most of all, they needed hope. The Gods would provide that, in spades. 

“Would you like to go?” Liora asked her, at what must have been their twelfth meeting. Reba had done away with any pretences; she knew, as sure as anything, that she was in love with her Goddess, that she wanted to serve her in any way she would accept.

Reba let the question stew in her mind for a little while. “I don’t know,” she said at length. “I suppose I would be useful. I could help fix the ship if anything happened to it. And it would be amazing to see Emmeline in the flesh. Yeah, I think I will go. Um, if that’s alright?”

“It could be dangerous,” Liora warned, “Earth isn’t the safe haven that Upsilon 2 is. They are a desperate people Reba. We don’t know how they will react.”

“But they won’t hurt us?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Several of my… _colleagues_ have expressed the feeling that this is a bad idea on our part. That returning to Earth will only dredge up things better left forgotten. They do not have the same peace that we have. You might even say we have a utopia. They are so very different.”

“They’re still people. Still human. How different can they be?”

“I admire your faith.”

“Will you be going, Your Magnificence?”

“If you go, I go. I think it only right. I won’t be able to offer any real help on the mission, as the Goddess of Lost Things, but since it was our idea, I think it prudent that we both go. Unless the people of Earth are also prone to losing trinkets... ”

“Great.” Reba closed her eyes and let her Goddess massage her shoulders for the time being. “How long will it take?” she finally asked.

“Two weeks, give or take an hour. We leave next Sixth-day.”

Reba smiled; only five whole days to go. “Will you travel on the ship with me? In your mortal form?”

“If you want me to. I could travel either way. I could fold myself through space and unfold myself on Earth in the time it takes your heart to flutter, right now. Either way.” The godly way did sound awe-worthy to Reba. She wanted to see her Goddess in all her glory, red-winged and celestial, out among the stars where she belonged. She wanted to feel the majesty all around her, sense the heat from her burning blood, feel the warmth wrap over and around her. It was a divine experience, and it was the only religion Reba wanted to know.

“I think I would like you to travel with me. It would be nice to have the company.”

“That’s settled then.”

* * *

The spaceship wasn’t the fanciest she’d ever seen, but its engines ran silently and it was clean, if a little old fashioned. She thought the Gods might have sprung for a better model, but generally she was pleased with it. She was allowed a quick glance at the mechanics of it, and she was happy: the pieces all looked fresh and unused. The ship had been named The Ambrosia, after their divine passengers. On take-off day, Reba stood on the bridge, leaning easily against the back wall and watching the ground of the only planet she’d ever known shrink away beneath them.

She wore gloves so Liora could hold her hand. They watched the golden fields of New London disappear together. The sun caught in their eyes as they pulled out of Upsilon 2’s heavy orbit. Everyone gasped as the planet turned into a veritable sphere before their very eyes. They watched in silence as they joined the procession of stars ahead. Liora was the only one not watching; she kept her eyes on Reba’s wonderous face.

The long expanse of space stretched out before them. There was very little to do but wait. Reba found herself a seat in the mess hall, with its wide sloping windows, and stared out at the distant cosmos, wondering what it would be like for them on Earth, if they would bring hope to the people there. She missed her uncle; she hoped he wasn’t feeling too sore about being left behind. He had seen her off with a container full of his best cookies - she had already shared around most of them.

Reba pulled the glass eye from her pocket and thought of Emmeline. They had talked before lift-off; Emmeline had found them a suitable patch of grassland to touch down outside of Old London, and would be waiting in the general area for them. Reba had agreed to contact her when they touched down. She wondered if Emmeline would be pleased to see her, or if she would view them as foreign invaders. They certainly _weren’t_ invaders - Reba had been sure to stress as much - but she knew full well how it must look to the people of Earth. A long-lost scion of humanity, returned from their utopia in another galaxy, blessed with the love of genuine deities… They had every right to be suspicious.

Still, Reba was hopeful for the future. They were journeying to a new planet, one so richly embedded in their history that it felt only right to return to it. Humanity had set off into the stars, but they had not forgotten those left behind. They would return, and bring their Gods with them. She looked into the glass eye and, perhaps for the first time, marvelled at its simple beauty.


End file.
